


An Inward Treasure - At Home with the Rutherglens

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:52:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some gratuitous follow-on scenes for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/409866/chapters/679810">An Inward Treasure</a>.  All of them set after the story ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Secret

Belle was not wholly naive.

Nor was she particularly inobservant.

All the same, she supposed she must have overlooked certain matters, so caught up in the chaos of the first weeks of her marriage and then the happy peace that followed. It seemed that time flew by, so much so that she quite lost track of days, weeks, and months.

It was Ellanor who observed that certain linens had not been called for in quite some time.

That was when Belle sat herself down with a calendar and thought hard upon the last time her flow had come upon her. The last she could remember of it was in the first few weeks at Westfell, particularly in the days of Jamie’s absence. She wracked her brain, trying to think if there was any other time beyond that. Surely, she thought, she could not have overlooked the absence of the monthly trial for some three months.

It was true she had been wearier of late, sunk by heavy lethargy, but she only thought it was the turning of the seasons.

She sought out Regina anxiously. Jamie was abroad in town, no doubt harassing some poor barrister or other over the matter of Aston’s idiocy. It seemed that their presentation at Blanche’s gathering had done little to ease his reputation, but much to enhance hers.

Regina insisted on seeking out the opinion of a midwife at once, and Belle acquiesced, terrified by the very thought and yet elated at the idea that she might be with child.

The midwife spoke plainly. There was no mistaking it.

Belle did not dare to speak to confirm any matter, but by her secretive smile, she knew that Regina had already believed it was so.

It seemed only fitting to tell Jamie privately, which led to her being unusually quiet and pensive throughout dinner. When he offered her his arm to lead her up to their bedchamber, she barely even noticed the look of concern on his face, until he asked.

“You seem quite distracted, m’dear.”

She looked at him, startled. “Oh?”

“Mm.” He led her over to her chair by the fireplace and took his own. “Hardly a word over supper. Barely a laugh at Bellamy’s demmed foolishness.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, studying her features intently. “Is something amiss?”

Belle felt colour warming her cheeks. “Not amiss,” she said, twisting her fingers together nervously. She did not know if he would be pleased or displeased with such news, not when it was so many years since he had been a father. “I-I am with child.”

Jamie’s face quite lit up. He dove from his chair to kneel before her, his hands sliding to her waist. “I knew it!” he declared in delight. “I have suspected it might be so, but I did not dare ask!”

Belle blinked at him in befuddlement. “You… knew?”

He spread his hands on her belly through her light evening gown. She could feel the warmth of his palms. “Lud, woman, I can count,” he said, looking up at her, his eyes shining. “We were abed too often for particular happenings to go unnoticed. And when particular happening did not happen, what other cause could there be?”

She stared down at him. “Why did you not tell me?”

He moved his hand in a gentle circle, seeking the swell that was only now beginning to show. “It is hardly a gentleman’s place to observe to his wife that she is lacking in certainly womanly humours,” he said with a snort.

“It is hardly a knave’s place to claim to be a gentleman,” Belle retorted, covering his hand on her belly.

He laughed with delight. “Ma Belle, you will be the very end of me,” he said.

She couldn’t help but smile. “You are pleased then?”

“Pleased?” he echoed. “By God, woman, I am ecstatic! If I did not know it would mortify you, I should shout it from the very rooftops!” He leaned closer, bowing his head towards her belly. “To think that within that little swell, we have created something that will be as beautiful as it’s mother.”

“And as silver-tongued as its father,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. She lifted her hands to cup his face. “Come here, you foolish creature.”

He rose on his knees and leaned up to kiss her warmly, slipping his arms around her waist to pull her closer.

It seemed that simply kissing would not be enough.

He cradled her in his arms and bore her to the bed as if she was as light as a feather, laying her down upon the counterpane and divesting her of her clothing with all the reverence due a saint. When he loved her, it was with every bit of the gentleness he possessed, and he did not scold her for weeping, only kissing the teartracks from her cheeks and embracing her.

When her smile returned, he kissed his way down her body to her gently rounding belly, laying both palms against the soft flesh.

“You will be your brother’s bane, little dearie,” he whispered so close to her skin that his breath drew gooseflesh across every part of her. “He will dote upon you and stamp and huff that you will be far, far prettier than he. Your will be a beauty like your mama.”

“Or handsome as his father,” Belle murmured, stroking his hair.

He looked up at her, his eyes bright. “I think it will be a girl,” he said. “A perfect little miniature of you, all blue eyes and dimples.”

“A miniature of us,” she countered, tugging on his hair. “You cannot blame me alone.”

He chuckled. “Indeed not,” he agreed, placing a warm kiss on her bare belly. “Whoever he or she may be, they are ours.”


	2. Birth

“Devil take ‘em!”

Bellamy watched his father storm back across the room. “Does it help?” he asked. He was sitting in one of the chairs before the fire, forearms resting on his knees. 

“What?” His father turned sharply to look at him. 

Bellamy waved a hand vaguely. “The pacing,” he said. “Does it help?”

His Grace James Goldacre, Duke of Rutherglen scowled and kicked over a footstool. “What the deuce do you think?” he snarled. “My wife is abed and the demmed woman has forbidden me entry. How am I to know if she or the child are living or dead or any which way in between?”

Bellamy rose and went to the cabinet by the wall. It was close on one hour past midnight. Isabelle had taken to the birthing bed some four hours before. For three of those four hours, his father had remained with her, talking to her and soothing her, but when the midwife arrived, she wanted none of him there. Isabelle had protested, of course, but the midwife had a will of iron.

Bellamy poked through the bottles, selecting a strong spirit and pouring a measure. The next time his father stalked passed him, he pushed the glass into his father’s hand. James Rutherglen downed the contents and slammed the glass down on the next available surface as he circled the room, occasionally kicking pieces of furniture. 

It took three more circuits and another measure of whisky before he stopped pacing and threw himself down into one of the two chairs beside the fire. Only when he was there and glaring broodingly at the flames did Bellamy approach and sit down again. 

“Mama Belle will be fine,” he said.

“Pah! How the devil do you know, boy? Are you a physician?”

Bellamy crossed one leg over the other. “I know she’s a devilish strong little brute,” he replied. “Do you not recall that she subdued Aston while half-senseless? A woman like that can survive any matter nature throws at her.”

His father stared at him blankly, rubbing his cheek. “She is so little, Bay,” he said, his voice a rasping whisper. “I can damn near span her waist with my hands. She is so very little, I’m afraid it will tear her apart bringing our little one into the world.”

“The midwife has said the child is quite small also, papa,” Bellamy said, reaching over to clasp his father’s wrist. “She will be fine.”

The drink had not done enough.

His father was on his feet again, stalking along the walls.

Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose. 

It was only a blessing that Isabelle had been in labour for quite some time. She had not initially been aware, as the child kicked so frequently that the difference between labour and a kicking child was hard to differentiate. It was only as they finished supper that she had gasped and folded upon herself. 

Abruptly, his father turned and stormed to the door. “Damn them all! She is my wife!”

“Papa!” Bellamy grabbed his father from behind. “The birthing bed is no place for a man!”

His father swung around so savagely that for a moment, Bellamy was startled. He was driven backwards against the wall, and his father bared his teeth. “I put that child in her belly. I am the cause of this distemper. I have every right to hold her and ease her distress, damn you!”

Bellamy stared at him, clasping his father’s wrists. “Papa, do you think taking fury in there will help aught?”

His father’s features crumpled. “Bay, I cannot lose her.”

Bellamy leaned closer, his hand around the back of his father’s neck, and he knocked their brows together. It was terrible to see his brave and stubborn father so very afraid. “She will be well, papa,” he said. “Come. We will go and see. Grandmama will tell us if aught is amiss.”

His father nodded. “Yes. Yes. She will tell us.”

They mounted the stairs, making their way up to the west wing, where his father’s bedroom lay. Despite the late hour, candles were lit in the halls. Bellamy took one of the candlesticks carefully in hand, his other hand still on his father’s shoulder in an attitude of wordless reassurance. The Duke felt like he might spring wildly forward, like a wildcat attacking prey, the tension palpable in him.

There were no screams or cries of pain, for which Bellamy was relieved. 

If there had been, he had no doubt his father would have smashed down the doors with his bare hands to reach Mama Belle. He squeezed his father’s shoulder as they neared the doors, then released him to rap on the wood.

It was but a moment before Grandmama opened the door. 

It was rare for Regina, the Dowager Duchess, to look dishevelled or unkempt in any way, but she did. She had shed her heavy, formal gown for a nightdress and robe and her hair was braided raggedly down her back. It was the look on her face, however, that alarmed Bellamy.

“You should not be here,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Damn you, Regina,” his father growled, “my wife is in there.”

“And it is no place for a man,” she retorted sharply. “James, the midwife is doing all she can.”

There was something in the way that she said it that made Bellamy heart feel like it had shrunk by degrees. “Grandmama, is Mama Belle quite well?”

Regina’s face went a shade paler. “The child is not lying correctly,” she said, her hands trembling in front of her. She tangled them together. “The midwife is trying to guide it to turn, but she fears it is too late for that.”

Her words were punctuated by a ragged sobbing cry from the room, even through the closed door.

Bellamy found himself thrown sideways and Regina crashed into him as his father stormed through the doors and into the bedchamber. The midwife’s voice rose in a fury, but his father merely snarled some epithet at her and she subsided.

“Is… is it so bad?” Bellamy asked Regina in a whisper.

She bit her lip, nodded. 

Bellamy dared a glance into the room, seeing bloodied sheets and Mama Belle gathered up in his father’s arms. “Can we do anything?”

Regina reached around him to pull the door closed. “No,” she said quietly.

__________________________________________________________

Jamie Goldacre cared naught for propriety or dignity when it came to his wife. 

The sight of his Belle sobbing, bloodied, so close to broken upon the bed, wrenched at his heart and he could not have left her alone. The midwife could swear and strike and even threaten, but he had no intention of leaving Belle when she was in pain.

He climbed onto the bed without hesitation, gathering Belle closer to him. Her nightgown was sodden with sweat and blood, and she was trembling as if in a fever. The fabric was pushed up over her knees, piled in a silky heap against her swollen belly.

“Jamie,” she whispered, her head falling to rest against his chest. “Jamie, I’m sorry.”

He nuzzled her brow. “Nonsense, dearie,” he whispered, though his voice was cracking with fear. “You were just waiting for me to join you.” He slipped his arms around her, seeking out her small hands. “I’m here now, dearie. I’m here to see our little one born.”

She gave a small, desperate sob. “She won’t turn,” she cried. “If she won’t turn, she cannot be born.”

Jamie swallowed hard. She was so afraid. He was too, but he had to be brave for her, to help her find her courage again. “Fie, woman,” he said as gently as he could, “a babe has two ends, each as narrow as the other. Would it not be quite natural for our child to enter the world backwards? After all, we have never done that which was expected of us.”

Belle tilted her head to stare at him, then giggled, a tiny, helpless and breathless sound. “I did not think of it so before,” she whispered, her hands clasping his as tight as pincers. “I want our child, Jamie. I want to see her.”

Jamie looked beyond her at the midwife. “A backwards child is not impossible, is it?” he said tersely, praying the infant was only backwards and not lying in some other untenable position.

“It is a more dangerous birth,” she said with a stern look at him, “but not impossible.”

He kissed Belle’s brow urgently. “You see, dearie? Not impossible.”

“Unlike you,” she whispered, her hands trembling in his. “You will stay?”

“Until she is in our arms,” he murmured, then winced as her hands tightened on his and she gave another low, sharp cry.

It was unbearable to see her in such pain. With every fresh wave, each closer upon the next, she grew wearier and wearier in his arms. It was a matter from a nightmare, to see her in such pain yet unable to do anything to aid her. She trembled and screamed out and sobbed and all he had were words, fragile comforts, and shivering kisses touched to her brow.

The sun was creeping up when she fell back against him, exhausted. “I’m tired,” she whispered between waves. She felt a deadweight against his chest, and the blood on the sheets and her nightgown made him tremble. “Jamie, I’m tired.”

He glanced to the midwife. “It cannot be much longer,” he murmured.

“No, indeed,” the woman said from her position between Belle’s knees. “Your child is on the move, your Grace. She wishes to emerge.”

Belle twisted in his arms to look at him. “She’s coming, Jamie,” she said, her pretty face flushed and sheened with sweat, her hair plastered to her skin. “Our little one.”

He did not realise until that moment that his face was wet, or that he had his arms around her so closely. He kissed he brow, her nose, her lips. “You only have a little longer to struggle, dearie,” he whispered. “Let us see this child of ours.”

Belle was drained to the point of collapse, but his words seemed to fan some flame in her, waking a last spark of fire, and she nodded, panting. She pushed her palms against his, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“Now, your Grace!” the midwife ordered.

Belle’s teeth clenched around a silent shriek and she pushed back against Jamie so hard that he could feel her heart pounding through her ribs. She screamed again, this time aloud, and he stared wide-eyed as a glimpse of flesh appeared between her thighs.

The midwife did not say anything further, her attention on the emerging babe, and Belle breathed and screamed and breathed again. There was blood about his wife’s thighs, about the midwife’s hands, about the limp and tiny body in her grasp.

The midwife caught the child by the ankles, and struck it sharply on the back. Jamie remembered that Eliza had told him it was necessary, to clear the lungs and to start the first cry, but the infant made no sound.

“Is she all right?” Belle demanded hoarsely. “Please! My baby!”

The midwife snatched up a ragged cloth and towelled the tiny body vigorously, and a thin, wet wail cut through the air. “There,” she said, and Jamie could see the terror in the woman’s line face melt away into relief. She moved the cloth aside and examined the infant. “There she is.”

Belle unclenched her fingers from Jamie’s hand, reaching out. “Please,” she whispered.

The woman nodded. She dealt with the infant‘s cord, then rose and circled the bed to lay the child upon her mother’s chest. “A girl,” she said. “Small, but looks to be healthy.”

Jamie’s vision was blurred with hot tears as he looked down at the ruddy wrinkled thing that had caused his wife such pain. She was a tiny little thing, just like her mother, with wisps of dark, downy hair, and tiny, clutching hands.

“Oh,” Belle whispered. “Jamie, look.”

He was quite sure the midwife was still there, but she could have been a dancing manticore in one of the Queen’s gowns for all he would have noticed. Belle looked up at him, and smiled, and the world was just him, his wife and their daughter. 

“What shall we call her?” he murmured, nuzzling her brow.

Belle’s fingertips gently stroked the tiny creature’s soft, pink back. “Amelia,” she murmured, “for my mother.”

“Amelia,” he echoed. His hand was trembling as he reached down to touch his daughter for the first time. “Welcome, Amelia Elizabeth Goldacre.”


	3. Daddy's Girl

They could have had a wetnurse. Jamie would have done anything to make things easier for her, but Belle was determined that her child would be tended by her own hands. She expected him to object, to demand that she let him pamper her, but he didn’t.

Indeed, he seemed happier than ever that she wanted to care for the infant herself. Even when she insisted on the cradle being brought into their bedchamber, he nodded, smiling.

It wasn’t until some three nights after Amelia’s birth that she realised why: he had longed for another child ever since his son was born. She woke to the softest of whimpers from the cradle and in the time it took her to rouse herself, her bed was empty and he husband was across the room.With cautious, gentle hands, he lifted the tiny little bundle that was their daughter, rocking her tenderly.

“Hush, dearie, hush,” she heard him whisper to the baby. “Mama needs to sleep.” Her eyes felt wet, which was ridiculous, and she hid her cheek in the pillow. “She is so very tired, Millie. You can go to sleep too. You can sleep on papa’s chest. Hush, hush.”

Amelia burbled quietly and Jamie hummed softly, a lullaby. It was effective, Belle mused, as she also drifted back to sleep.


	4. Picking Flowers

Belle felt sick to her stomach.

Of all the people to run into at a gathering, Aston had to be there. She was swelled with child, puffed up and pink and utterly repellent and that beast of a man had shown face, loomed over her, and she didn't even have a pistol to prod at the front of his breeches to make him go away. No. Instead, she had been unable to keep from weeping, and it infuriated her. Her foolish body was succumbing to all manner of wretched emotions and she was quite, quite put out.

To make matters worse, as soon as he had deposited her at home, Jamie had had Bucephalus saddled and rode off into the night, leaving her to waddle to bed, all belly and repugnance, and no one to rub her feet or wipe the tears away for her. She struck a pillow hard, fighting down another fit of foolish weeping.

Why did the silly man go off when he knew how distressed her pregnancy made her? Amelia had been quite trying enough, but this second infant seemed to be turning her emotions all over.

She lay down on the counterpane and snivelled into a pillow, then hit it again.

By the time Jamie returned, she had punctured the wretched thing and there were feathers all over. He stopped dead in the doorway, an astonished look on his sooty face. She stared back, equally befuddled. All anger was forgotten when the scent of burning reached her.

"Jamie..." she said, sitting up. "What have you done?"

He strode across the room, holding out a long-stemmed and lovely rose to her. "I went flower-picking," he informed her. 

She accepted the rose, staring at it, then looked at him. "Since when does flower-picking smell like smoke."

Jamie grinned wolfishly at her. "When the Aston's prize rose garden was unfortunately dry and some damned bastard dropped a torch. The place went up like kindling."

Belle stared at him.

He smiled hopefully at her. "I saved the best rose for you."

She caught him by the ear and pulled him down to kiss him. "You are a very stupid man," she informed him. "And I love you."


	5. Big Brother's Room

Amelia looked at Lady Dolly. Lady Dolly had big button eyes and looked back at her. “I know you’re scare Lady Dolly,” Amelia informed her solemnly. “It is a very big room and you are only a little Lady Dolly.”

 

It was bad that Lady Dolly was scared, even if there was a candle high up on the fireplace to make it light.

“I think you would like Bay to give you a cuddle, wouldn’t you?”

Lady Dolly wanted a cuddle from Bay very much. Bay was very good at cuddles and making a room not be so big.

Amelia climbed down from the bed on the little steps her papa had put there for her. They were there in case she needed to use her pot in the night, but she knew papa liked it when she crept into the room with him and mama. Sometimes, she would wriggle in between them like a little worm and they would pretend to be surprised.

Tonight, though, mama and papa were not in bed yet. They had important people to visit, and had to hold a party. Bay had secretly told Amelia that he didn’t want to go to the party, because they kept asking why he didn’t have a wife yet, so he was going to work very hard in his room.

The door was open a little bit. Amelia hugged Lady Dolly tightly and wiggled all her fingers through the gap until she could pull it open. She could hear the noise of lots of people downstairs, and she snuck out into the hall on tip-toes.

Bay’s room was in the other wing, so she ran as quickly as she could. her nightdress went sh-sh-sh around her legs and she giggled as she hurried down the hall. Bay had left his door open too. He knew she would sneak to him, because he knew Lady Dolly was scared of the big dark room.

She pushed the door open a little bit. The hinges squeaked. Amelia peeped around the door. Bay was there, sitting at his desk, his head resting against one hand. He was writing with the other.

She crept towards him. It was hard to sneak up on him, because he always paid attention, and just once, she wanted to make him yell in surprise like papa did when she crawled under his desk and pulled on his legs.

She was close enough to touch his coat when he said, “Hello, Millie.”

“Oh!” She pouted. “I thought I sneaked properly.”

Her big brother turned around with a big, warm smile. “You did very well,” he said, scooping her up into his lap. “So, what brings my little lady to my room in the middle of the night?”

She held up Lady Dolly. “Lady Dolly was scared,” she informed him.

“Was she indeed?” Bay looked sternly at Lady Dolly. “Now, Lady Dolly. What have I told you about being scared?”

“That a room can be big but it’s only scary if you let it be,” Amelia said. “I told her she was silly too.” She snuggled against him. “Your room doesn’t look so big. She likes it here.”

“And you do too?” he said, tapping the end of her nose.

Amelia nodded. “Because you’re here,” she said. The big smile on his face got even bigger. “Can I stay?”

He got up, swinging her into the air. “Oh, I suppose you might!” he said, whirling her around and making her squeal with laughter. When he set her down on her feet on the end of the bed, he pointed a finger at her sternly, “But this time, you don’t steal all my covers.”

“I didn’t!” Amelia said, giggling. “You pushed them onto me!”

“I would do no such thing!” he said, pretending to be shocked.

“You did! And the pillows! I was squished!”

He shook his head, his hair all flying all over. “I think you’re imagining things!”

Amelia put out her tongue at him and he put out his, which made her laugh. Grandmama always told him off for doing such silly things, but he always did them anyway.

“I want the middle of the bed,” she told him.

“Is that so?” He put his hands on his hips. “And where am I to sleep?”

She walked to the middle of the bed and looked around, then pointed. “There.”

“In the corner?” he said, laughing. “I’m a bit big for the corner.”

She hummed for a minute. “All right. You can sleep beside me.”

“In my own bed?”

She nodded. “Papa says I am very…” She frowned, trying to remember the word. “Jen-rus.”

He laughed. “Yes, Millie, you are,” he said. “Now, you get into the bed and get it all cosy for me. I have a letter to finish, and then I shall come and you will show me where I can sleep.”

“Soon?” she asked hopefully.

“Very soon,” he promised.

She was almost sleepy when he crawled under the covers beside her. The candles were all out now, but it wasn’t scary in the dark with her big brother. Bay always had the nicest nightshirts, all smooth and soft, and she cuddled up to him, Lady Dolly tucked in between them.

“Am I in the right place?” he asked in a little small whisper.

She nodded happily. “Best place,” she whispered, hugging him tightly.


	6. In Sickness

The weather was bleak.

Rain was lashing against the window in sheets, audible even through the shutters and the thick drapes. 

Belle drew her shawl more tightly about her. Even though the fire was burning high, the sound of the storm made her shiver. She hoped the children were sleeping through it, but even if they were not, she could not go to them, not while she had a sickbed to attend. 

A fever had swept through the estate. Half the household staff had been laid low, and worse yet, two had died of the sickness. Jamie had warned her not to approach them, but by the time the warning was given, she had already been at the sickbeds of some half-dozen of the staff.

That was the last time she had seen her children.

She could not allow Amelia or Thomas to become ill because of her own carelessness, so they had been left in Regina's care, closed away safely in the nursery. She, instead, tended those who were ill, and each night, sank herself in a scaldingly hot bath and scrubbed every inch, as if she might wash the contagion away.

It was nonsense, really, but it felt better than remaining spattered in the sweats and fluids of the sick and dying. 

The latest victim was the one who concerned her - and Jamie - the most.

Rab Graham, the groundskeeper, had been found unconscious on the grounds by a poacher of all people. The poacher recognised a sick man when he saw one, and despite his intended crimes, he had hoisted Rab upon his shoulder, and dragged him to Westfell. Jamie had given the man leave to take a hart if he could catch one, and if not, then as many rabbits as he could catch in a month.

Rab had not regained consciousness for more than a few moments in almost four days.

Belle seldom left his side. She sponged his hot brow with a sponge soaked in vinegar. She trickled water and soup between his dry, cracked lips. She covered him with blankets when he shivered, and when he cast them aside in a fevered daze, she would sponge his head, his chest.

Jamie came often to see him too, and she could see the concern on her husband's face.

Rab was as close as family, she knew. The only reason her husband wasn't there in her place was because the estate was in dire straits because of the sickness. He was working in all parts of the house to supplement the lack, and it was only through sheer luck that neither of them had fallen ill. 

Each morning and noon, he would look in on her, and now, as the rain beat outside, he stood by the door.

"Any change?" he asked quietly, as Rab stirred and shivered in the bed.

Belle shook her head. "He was mumbling nonsense," she said, drawing the blankets closer around the man's body. The flesh had shrunk from his bones, and as much as she tried to feed him, more spilled onto the bedding than down his throat. She looked up at Jamie. "I fear the worst," she admitted quietly.

He approached her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I contacted Bellamy three days ago," he murmured. "They have always been close. He would want to know."

Belle nodded, closing her eyes briefly. "How long would the couriers take to reach London?" she asked quietly.

"Weather permitting, it could be as soon as a day and a half," he said. "But it would take him several days to come back."

She leaned forward and smoothed Rab's matted hair back from his brow. He shivered violently at her touch, his skin cold and damp. "We must hold on until then," she said. She rose and went to the fireplace to stoke the flames. "Will you rest, Jamie?"

He nodded. "I fear I must," he said. "My head is light with weariness." His fingers brushed her arm. "Will you not join me? You look half-dead, love."

She shook her head. "I will stay with him until the morning," she said. "He is worse through the nights."

Jamie drew her close and kissed her brow. "You are a good woman, Belle," he murmured.

Belle looked over at the bed. "He was my first friend here," she said. "What manner of friend would I be, if I left him alone now?" She pressed her hand to Jamie's chest. "Go. Rest. I will see you in the morning."

He left her with reluctance, and Belle returned to the chair by Rab's bedside. He was muttering again, twisting and curling up beneath the covers, as if in pain. The blankets were sodden in sweat, and stained, so she drew what she could off, replacing them with fresh coverings.

She tilted his head back again, and squeezed water from a sponge between his lips. His throat moved erratically, and he swallowed at least a little of it, but not enough. Belle blinked back tears of exhausted frustration. It was so wretched, seeing someone as strong as Rab was reduced to a shaking, whimpering ruin.

His fever settled some two and a half hours later, and he was still for a time, quiet beneath the blankets. There was little left to do, she knew, but pray. She drew her chair closer to the fire, wrapping her shawl tight about her, trying to read, but her head was swimming with fatigue. 

She must have drifted to sleep over the book, though she could not be sure. In the halls, she heard footfalls, people rushing around. She struggled to her feet, and was moving towards the door when it swung inwards. She drew back, startled, at the figure there.

"Bellamy?"

Bay was wearing a long riding coat which was soaked and spattered with mud. His hair was plastered to his ashen face, and he ignored her completely. He crossed the room in three steps, half-sitting, half-falling down onto the bed, one trembling hand brushing Rab's cheek.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Rab, I'm here." He shed his coat, and leaned down to gather Rab in his arms, drawing him up with the strength Belle lacked. He wrapped him close in his arms, sharing his warmth with the shivering man, drawing blankets about them both. "I'm here," he whispered again. 

Belle's heart thumped painfully.

Bellamy was not holding him as a man would hold a brother. Bellamy was oblivious to her, pressed his lips to Rab's brow, murmuring to him, cradling him as gently as Jamie had cradled her.

She backed out of the room, knowing she had seen something private and secret, something she should not have seen, nor known. Her hands trembled as she closed the door. 

Such preferences, she had heard of, of course. It was roundly condemned as unholy and sinful, but the look on Bay's face, the grief and the love, was so like that of his father, that she could not imagine how any could be damned for it. The door handles were slick with rain water, and she looked down at the floor, at the muddy footprints.

Bay had ridden from London.

He must not have stopped since he received word.

If she could have believed she was imagining things, the fact that he had rode from London to be with Rab...

Belle spun about at the sound of footsteps approaching, and pressed back to the door as her husband approached. He had pulled on his breeches with his nightshirt, and looked dishevelled. 

"Belle?"

Her mouth went dry. If Rab and Bellamy's... arrangement was not known, then Jamie would be furious. Such a thing was damnable, she knew, and as lord of the manor, it was his responsibility to punish such things, and the punishment for men who lay together was death, and not a gentle one. "You need not go in," she whispered. "Rab is sleeping."

He stopped dead before her, staring at her in consternation. "Move aside," he said.

Belle held tighter on the door handles. "No," she said quietly. "Leave him in peace, Jamie. Please. You need not go in there."

He frowned. "Belle, what's wrong?"

"Please," she whispered. "Allow him some peace."

He glanced about the hall and leaned closer. "Love, I know Bellamy arrived," he murmured. "And I know he would have come here at once, even without seeing the bootprints." He gently took her shoulders. "I know my son, Belle. I know him better than even he does. I know why he is here."

Belle stared at him, her eyes bright. "You know?"

He nodded. "I have known for a long while," he murmured. "But no one else does, and that is why we must go in."

Her hands were still shaking as she opened the door, and he put his arm around her, drawing her back into the room with him. Once they were in, he closed the door behind them and locked it securely. He looked towards the bed, towards his son and Rab.

"Bay," he murmured.

Bay's cheek was resting against Rab's matted hair. "I will not leave him, papa," he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "You would have to have me dragged from the room."

"I would do no such thing," Jamie murmured, approaching the bed. "When did you last eat, my boy? When did you last sleep?"

Bellamy shook his head uncertainly. "I do not recall," he murmured. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. "Your letter arrived, and..." He shook his head again. "I do not recall."

Jamie reached out to Belle, touching her arm. "Can you go to the kitchen?" he asked quietly. "Fetch something from the pantry. Some tea." Belle nodded at once and Jamie squeezed her arm gratefully. "When you return, knock upon the door. It will be locked."

She withdrew into the hall, making her way through passages made unfamiliar by night. The servants were abed, and she was relieved to find the kitchen empty but for one of the scullery maids drowsing in the chair by the fire. She gently shook the girl awake, asking for her sleepy assistance in making a brief repast. The girl was so startled to be approached by the Duchess herself, she barely thought to question it.

Some half hour later, Belle returned to the room, carrying the lightest tray she was able to find. She nudged the door with her elbow, and Jamie ushered her back in quickly. Bellamy had moved from the bed long enough to be divested of his damp clothing and boots, which had been piled by the door.

The bed had also been remade around Rab, replacing the damp and chilly covers. Bellamy was seated upright against the headboard, propped up with pillows, and Rab was resting against his chest, blankets drawn up around them both, his arms around Rab's shoulders, his brow resting against Rab's. His eyes were closed and for a moment, they looked strangely peaceful. 

"Is he asleep?" she whispered to Jamie.

Jamie shook his head. "By rights, the foolish child should be," he replied quietly, taking the tray from her hands. "Rode from London and borrowed courier horses every step of the way." He carried the tray over to the small table by the bed, and set it down. Belle watched quietly from the door as Jamie poured a cup of tea, adding a large splash of milk and sugar, then touched his son's head. "Bay."

Bellamy opened his eyes wearily. "Mm?"

Jamie put the cup to his lips. "Drink, my boy," he murmured. 

Bellamy groped for the cup, gulping the liquid down. A second cup followed, and when Jamie drew a chair closer, and sat with a bowl of sweet pudding, Bellamy opened his mouth like a baby bird, awaiting feeding. Jamie did not protest nor complain, simply feeding his son what he could until Bellamy's eyes drooped closed again. His head lolled against Rab's, and Jamie sighed, sitting back. 

Cautiously, Belle approached, touching Jamie's shoulder. He raised his hand to clasp hers.

"What happens now?" she asked in a small voice.

"Life goes on," he murmured, watching them. "We wait. If Rab lives..." He exhaled quietly, and rose, turning to take her in his arms. "You are to me what Rab is to Bay. If I lost you..." He held her close enough for her to feel him trembling. "If Rab does not live, all we can do is give Bellamy all the love we have and hope to God it is enough."

Belle pressed her cheek to his shoulder, holding him tightly. "Why did you not tell me?" she asked in a whisper.

"It was not my tale to tell," he replied just as quietly. He drew her over to the fire, and the one large chair that remained there. When he sat, he tugged her down into his lap, his arms around her waist. "I only found out because I knew him well." He searched her features. "You are shocked?"

Belle lowered her eyes. "I-I do not know," she admitted. "It is not something I imagined encountering."

His fingers curled around her waist gently. "No, I imagine not," he murmured, "my virtuous little wife."

She looked at him reproachfully. "Jamie..."

He raised his eyes to her face. "Do not think this is ill blood," he said quietly. "It is no perversion. You know Bay well, and you know he loves only in earnestness."

Belle nodded, touching his cheek. "I know him," she said softly. "I only wish he had told me before. To find out now, when..." She shook her head. "Will he live?"

"Rab?" Jamie asked. He looked drawn, exhausted. "Or Bay?"

"Either? Both?"

He shook his head. "I cannot say, Belle," he said quietly. "I would that I could."

Belle's eyes pricked, and she sat up, drawing his head to her breast, her fingers combing through his hair. To lose Rab would be terrible, but if Bay could not stand it? It did not bear thinking of.


	7. Naming Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about 8 years after Inward finished.

"Mama!"

"Stop that! Stop that now!"

"Mama!"

Amelia hurried after her silly little brother. He always went running straight to mama when Amelia wouldn't let him play with her dolls. Ever since he ruined the tea party and chipped one of her favourite cups, she had forbidden him from playing with her. 

Mama was sitting in the parlour with the other one. She didn't know why she needed another brother. She already had Bay and Thomas. Another wasn't fair, especially since she didn't have any sisters. Mama smiled when she complained, and told Amelia she was very sorry, but only God could choose the manner of babe to put in her belly.

God, Amelia decided, liked boys best, which was stupid. 

Most of the boys she knew were silly things. Not Bay, of course, or papa. Thomas and the new one both were. They cried and just when Thomas stopped smelling bad all the time, the new one arrived to do it instead. He didn't have a name yet and when he wasn't crying or sleeping, mama had to feed him.

"Mama! Mama! Mama!"

"Don't listen to him, mama!" Amelia hurried after her brother. He was smaller, but he could run faster, because he didn't have to wear silly skirts.

Mama lifted her head. She was feeding the new one again. He didn't have any hair, and when Bay asked her what she thought, she told him that the baby was the ugliest thing she ever saw. Bay had laughed, but told her never to tell mama that, because mama thought he was quite lovely. 

"What is it, Thomas?"

Thomas stuck out his lip like a baby. "Melia won't let me play with her dolls."

"You have your own dolls, don't you?"

"Told you," Amelia said smugly. "They're mine."

"Melia's are better!" Thomas protested. "Mine are all floppy and cloth."

Mama held out her hand to Thomas. He crept closer and hid his face in her skirt. Mama stroked his hair. It was all straight and brown just like papa's, not all fluffy and curly like hers. "Amelia has grown-up dolls, because she's a grown up little lady," she said. "When you're bigger, you'll get grown-up dolls too, if you like."

"Want them now," Thomas mumbled.

Mama lifted his chin in her hand. "Want doesn't mean get," she said. "Sometimes, you have to wait for good things to come along."

"Like I did with your mother."

Amelia squealed. "Papa!"

Thomas's sulky face went away, and he beamed. "Papa!"

Papa was standing in the doorway. He had his riding coat on and was still wearing his hat, but he went down on one knee and opened his arms and both of them ran. Amelia grabbed her skirts and pulled them up to her knees and ran even faster than Thomas to reach papa first.

He wrapped them up in a great big hug, squashing them both up in his arms. 

"Yuck!" Thomas yelped. "Papa! You're all wet!"

"I might be clever and quick," papa said, laughing, "but I'm not magic. Not even I can stop the rain."

"I don't mind," Amelia said, putting her arms around his neck. She kissed him on the cheek. "I missed you, papa."

"And I missed you too, Millie." Papa kissed her on the forehead.

"And me?" Thomas asked.

Papa tickled Thomas's belly. "Of course. I missed all of you."

"And mama most," Amelia said wisely. Mama was standing up by the couch, and she was smiling her silly soft smile. Papa didn't go away lots, but when he did, it was for days and days. Amelia undid her arms from around his neck and tugged Thomas back.

Papa smiled at her, then rose. "And mama most," he agreed.

"Silly old man," mama said, her eyes all shiny. She was smiling and papa walked towards her so fast he was almost running. Thomas made a face when papa kissed mama on the mouth, and Amelia giggled. Boys were silly, if they didn't know how important a mama and papa kiss was. Mama touched his cheek. "We didn't expect you home so soon."

"Truth be told, the demmed council wanted to have me haunting the chambers," he said. "A token Duke to make them appear well before the King's envoy."

"And they asked you?" Mama looked shocked. "Why on earth would they do that?"

Papa made a low, growling sound. "You mock me, woman?"

"Openly and often," she replied, laughing. They both looked down when the new one whimpered. "But I fear our little gannet demands my favours."

"Wretched pampered little beast," papa said, grinning. Mama pulled a face and sat back down on the couch, opening her shawl to feed the baby again. Papa plucked off his hat and looked over at Amelia and Thomas. "So, my little villains, what argument did I walk into?"

"Papa, Melia won't let me play!"

"Papa, Thomas wants to break my dolls!"

Papa looked between them, spinning his hat in his hands, then tossed it to Thomas, who managed to catch it. "You run off and play at pirates, you little ruffian," he said. "You know demmed well why you aren't allowed near your sister's collection. Don't think I don't recall that you cracked little Nollys's nose right off."

Thomas giggled sheepishly. "I dropped it," he said, putting papa's hat on.

"And that, rapscallion, is why you will not play with them again, aye?" Papa shed his coat and threw it over the back of a chair. "For if you do, I shall give Millie leave to put a plank out of the parlour window and let her poke you into a water barrel with my rapier."

"Papa!" Thomas protested.

"Zooks!" Papa said, hands on his hips. "Would you have me be the one to poke you out the window?" He stamped over towards Thomas, who stared at him wide-eyed. "I had your brother tossed in a horse trough in London, when he was impudent." He bent down and looked Thomas in the eyes. "Now, Captain Goldacre, would you walk the plank?"

Thomas leaned sideways to peek at mama. "Mama, will papa really put me in a water barrel?"

Mama nodded solemnly. "Papa doesn't like it when people are naughty and don't do as they are asked."

Thomas looked up at papa. "I won't touch Melia's dolls," he said.

Papa swatted the hat down and it fell over Thomas's eyes, making him giggle. "That's my little Captain," he said. "Now, off and find your grandmama. Tell her we will have a family dinner this evening, if she will grace us with her presence."

"Me too?" Amelia asked, as Thomas hurried away, pushing the hat up.

Papa sat down beside mama and shook his head. "We have a very important job for you, Millie," he said, becknoning her closer. She came nearer and he wrapped an arm around her middle. "Mama tells me that you don't spend much time with your new brother."

Amelia shrugged, scuffing her feet. "He doesn't do anything," she said.

"Not yet," papa said, "but he's going to need his brave big sister when he gets older."

Amelia looked down at the pink, wriggling baby. His face was all screwed up and he had milk around his mouth. "Why?"

"Why do you like having Bay around?" Mama said.

"Because Bay looks after me," Amelia said at once, "and shows me clever things."

"Well, one day, this little person will need his big sister to show him clever things too," papa said. He gave Amelia a squeeze. "We don't know what to call him yet. Would you like to be a clever big sister and help us to find a good name for him? The first thing you can teach him?"

Amelia went pink. It was an important job to give a baby a name. "But I don't know names," she said.

Papa lifted her up to sit on his lap. "Of course you do," he said. "Mama says you can already read very well. Do you know where we keep all the family records in the library?" 

Amelia nodded, wide-eyed. The big, heavy leather books were full of all of the names of all of the people from their family, going back years and years. She knew she was named for mama's mama and Thomas was named for mama's papa, but no one was named for papa's family. 

Papa tapped the middle of her chest. "Your job," he said, "is to look at the name books and you can pick a name for this little one." Amelia nodded eagerly. "But remember that this is a very important job, because it means you're his big sister and even if he's silly and annoying, he'll still be your baby brother."

"I'll pick something good," Amelia said. "When? Now? Can I do it now?"

Papa laughed and mama smiled. "Are you in such a hurry to run off, you ungrateful little wench?" papa said, tickling her and making her shriek. "I ride halfway across the demmed country and you would abandon me with your mother, without so much as a by your leave?"

"Stop it, papa! Stop it!" Amelia wriggled helplessly. "Mama! Tell him!"

"Should I, dearie?" Papa was laughing. "Should I be merciful?"

"Just this once," mama said, smiling. "She must live to pick a name for our little one."

"Alas," papa sighed and set her back on her feet. "Mama says you must live." He ruffled her hair. "Would you be a lamb and take my coat to my chamber? I have this peculiar need to be alone with your mama for a moment."

"You want to kiss her mouth again, don't you?" Amelia made a face. 

"She knows you too well, Jamie," mama said, smiling. She looked at Amelia. "Run along, Millie, and be sure to dry your hands before you go to the library."

Amelia hauled papa's riding coat off the chair. It was already leaving stains, but papa never cared about things like that. "How long do I have to choose a name?" she asked, pulling papa's coat around her shoulders. It was easier to wear it than to carry it, even if it trailed behind her like a cloak. 

Mama and papa looked at one another. 

"Three days," mama said. "But take your time and concentrate very hard."

Amelia nodded eagerly. She would go and she would find a really good name and she would take all of the three days, then come back and tell mama and papa her choice. 

"One down," papa murmured as she hurried towards the door. "Two to go."

Amelia heard mama laugh.


	8. Millie's Presentation

Basingstoke, son of the Marquis of Dunwood, shoved through the crowd towards one of his old school chums. “What ho, old boy!” he exclaimed. “Still fashionable, eh, Bay?”

Bellamy Goldacre laughed, slapping Basingstoke on the shoulder. “Well one of us must be, old boy,” he said. “Have I missed much in town?”

“Heavens, no,” Basingstoke said, shaking his heavy head. “Wigs are done with, of course, but you knew that I see, and I swear the demmed lawmongers are bent on taking all the little luxuries one might have! And now, the demmed frogs are fussing again.” He faltered. “Lud above, but your mother is one, ain’t she?”

“Half-frog, half-English, but all Scotch now,” Bellamy agreed. He waved across the room. “Hey! Boy! Come here! Bring my pipe!”

A skinny young lad all but dashed across the room. He was some head shorter than Bay himself, but there was a resemblance between the lad and Bay that was undeniable. Something about the sarcastic expression, though the lad had blue eyes compared to Bay’s brown.

Basingstoke eyed the lad with interest. There had been many a rumour about Bay, given how late he had wed and the lack of children in his marriage, but it looked like he had done well to get at least one little bastard on the wrong side of the blanket. “Who’s this fellow?” he said cheerfully.

“This is Robert Graham,” Bellamy said, slapping the lad firmly on the back. “He’s of a family on my father’s lands.”

“Honoured to meet you, sir,” the lad added. His voice was bright. Younger than he looked, then, if his voice hadn’t dropped yet.

“Indeed,” Basingstoke said, holding out his own pipe. “If you would, lad.”

The boy sparked the flint to light his pipe, then looked askance at Bellamy. “Master Bay, may I go and watch the people in the garden?”

Bellamy patted his shoulder firmly. “Aye, lad,” he said. “But stay clear of trouble.”

The boy flashed a grin. “Would I do anything but?” he said, then darted off again.

Bellamy watched him go with the stupid soft expression of a proud father.

“A handsome lad,” Basingstoke observed. “Kin?”

Bellamy chuckled. “Aye,” he said. “And I have no doubt my father would have my guts for garters if he knew I had allowed the demmed brat to attend.”

“Have no fear,” Basingstoke said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll be sure not to breathe a word.”

Bellamy smiled. “Thank you, old boy. The lad’s mother would be most gratified.”


	9. Open to Interpretation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, this one is only relevant if you have read In Need of a Wife. I'm assuming you have. If not... well, it won't make much sense ;)

One of the fortunate aspects of Bellamy’s marriage was having more young women around the house, which was certainly a relief when Belle was confined to her chambers and advised to remain there until the birth of her fourth child.

There had been a couple of years that had been a trial between Thomas and wee Jamie, with a miscarriage and a stillbirth in rapid succession. Therefore, no risks were being taken, and she was resting abed, being quiet and docile and not lifting a finger.

While Regina took care of the older children, Rose would sit with her and they would do embroidery or crochetting, anything to keep her occupied until her husband came to lavish his attention on her.

Mingxu often sat quietly in the room with them as well, bringing tea when it was required or even producing a small instrument not unlike a lute and playing strange, soft music to entertain Belle.

“You must find me so tiresome,” Belle admitted ruefully, resting her hands upon her swollen belly. “Closing you up in my chamber with me.”

“Not at all,” Rose said, as she poured them both tea. “I have had little enough opportunity to spend time with other women of my own age. I consider it a pleasure.”

Belle adjusted a pillow behind her back. “You have had one another, at least,” she said.

Rose glanced over her shoulder at Mingxu with a fond smile. “We have,” she said, then looked back at Belle. “I am grateful, your Grace, for allowing me to have Mingxu remain with me.”

“Tush,” Belle said. “It bring me joy to see such close concourse between two women.”

A warm glow suffused Rose’s cheeks. “I-I did not know you thought so,” she said as she sat down on the edge of Belle’s bed, offering her the teacup.

Belle took the cup in one hand and caught Rose’s hand with the other. “Many women would envy such loyalty,” she said, wondering what it might have been like to have a friend close enough to cross half the world to remain with her.

“I am glad you believe so,” Rose said, clasping her fingers. “So many would have looked unkindly upon us.”

Belle nodded gravely, glancing at the young Chinese woman. “It is often the case that people fear that which they consider unusual,” she said, looking back at Rose. “But have no fear. You are both our family now, whether by blood or marriage or bond.”

Rose’s features broke into a beautiful smile. “Thank you,” she said with such warmth that Belle could see why Bellamy adored her. She was a lovely wife indeed.


	10. Combat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, this one is only relevant if you have read In Need of a Wife. I'm assuming you have. If not... well, it won't make much sense ;)

Rab shifted from one foot to the other, looking down at the diminutive Chinese woman. “Are ye sure this is a good idea?”

Her dark eyes surveyed him. “Are you afraid?”

Rab snorted. “I’m not scared of a wee hen like you.”

“That would be the first mistake,” Rose murmured to Bellamy. They were seated on one of the lawn chairs, taking afternoon tea, and the afternoon’s entertainment seemed to be Rab avoiding confrontation with Mingxu.

“Come on, you daft bugger,” Bellamy said, laughing. “Hit her!”

Rab looked at him, wounded, then back at Mingxu. “I dinnae want to hurt you.”

A small, cryptic smile crossed her lips. “You won’t.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh aye?” He swung a fist at her which would have laid low a man.

Mingxu delicately deflected the blow with her forearm. She inclined her head with a minute smile, then turned her hand and curled her fingers, beckoning him. “Again.”

The smile seemed to break through any compunctions Rab might have had about hitting a lady and he lunged at her again. Mingxu’s steps were deceptively simple as she dodged and evaded each blow, leaving Rab whirling around and out of breath.

When he was panting and breathless, she stepped close to him, hooked a leg around his and pushed him backwards onto the grass.

“The victor!” Rose crowed.

Bellamy laughed. “I do believe we did not give the poor fellow fair warning,” he admitted, as Mingxu offered Rab her hand.

“I’d say so, ye poxy bastard,” Rab grumbled good-naturedly, rubbing his ribs. He bowed his head to Mingxu. “Yer a fierce wee thing, I’ll give ye that. How did ye learn to fight like that?”

“Many years of training,” she replied with a small smile. “Miss Millie is already learning well also. She believes it will serve her well in town.”

Bellamy groaned. “I’ll be picking suitors off the floor from here to Judgement day,” he said, shaking his head. “Remind me, Rose, why the deuce did I marry you again?”

His wife patted him on the hand. “Necessity,” she said.


End file.
